


Steady and Stinging

by AnotherLoser



Series: Drawn to Destruction [1]
Category: DC's Legends of Tomorrow (TV)
Genre: Blood, Dom!Len, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, Knifeplay, M/M, Platonic BDSM, Sub!Mick
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-27
Updated: 2017-01-27
Packaged: 2018-09-18 19:53:54
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,918
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9400661
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AnotherLoser/pseuds/AnotherLoser
Summary: Mick asked- begged the first few times.  Barely focussed, already having put a wide gash in his own leg, looking up at Leonard and insisting that he needed it.  He needed the knife Leonard had snatched to be given back.  He needed to hurt.  The only calm was when Leonard said "Let me do it then, okay?  Let me do it.."





	

**Author's Note:**

> As much as I'd like to go in detail and depth with this kind of scene for them another time, this one is pretty vague.

Pyromania was felt deep in his gut, in the back of his mind, an itch- a burning need different than any other.It built slow and steady until it clouded his mind and he was all but consumed by the need the burn and burn as much as possible.

This was different kind of urge.A different craving, a different impulse.Just as strong, but much faster.There was no build up for days, no beginning signs, it was simply there and it escalated very quickly.

It sits under his skin, giving him day dreams of spilling blood and burning flesh.

He doesn't know why or when it began.Not really.He never knows what sets him off.  Suddenly he has to rely on autopilot to get home safely.He relies on luck and what little self control he has to keep himself from acting alone.

He paces slowly around the house, letting his mind wander wherever it may, occasionally coming back to reality as he prepare himself a glass of water or barley avoid furniture corners.After a while he sits on the floor, back to the doorframe connecting to the bedroom.His craving has free run over his thoughts then, with no other inputs in the quiet, dimly lit apartment.His thigh tingles where he pictures slicing a long cut through his skin, dark lines of blood running down either side.It was always more gruesome in his head than would be ideal, always much more than what he would honestly be willing to endure, let alone crave, but if he were logical then he wouldn't be thinking of such things at all would he?It was always extremes in fantasies.It's the same with the alternative images of his skin turning black on the back of his calf, held over a flame until he couldn't even feel it anymore; fire eating up the nerves in his skin as it passes into a deep third-degree.He pictures the new patterns of scar tissue he would gain as well.

 

And then the front door opens.

Leonard knows the second he sees Mick.He knew how to handle him when he was like this.How to do it safely.  
"You with me?"  He asks, voice as gentle as it always is on nights like this and knelt on the floor beside his partner, reaching to cup his jaw.  
"Yeah."  
"How long have you been waiting?"  
"What time is it?"  
"Nine-thirty-two."  
Mick hums acknowledgement.  "Couple hours."  
"Okay.  How about we head to the bedroom?"  
Mick only nods then, rising to his feet when Leonard does and following him through the doorway.  At his partner's command, Mick strips himself to his boxers and kneels in front of the foot of the bed.

 

Once upon a time Mick had scars lightly littering his arms.Some self inflicted but mostly faint evidence of what he and Leonard do on days like this.He'd tie his partner's wrists together above his head, straddle his waist and press the tip of a blade or the fire of a match to his skin.Wether small burns or little flicks of a knife, Mick loved the mark left over.He'd stare at them, trace over any textures with his fingertips, similarly to how he'd stare at his lighter- but for far less time and much less often.He loved it, but he loved fire more in that respect.He needed both though.

Since the fire that marred his arms especially, Leonard hasn't touched them.Not like this, anyway.He avoids the scar tissue on his torso as well, as that was the point.Instead he focuses on Mick's back mostly, sometimes his stomach or chest.  Nothing he does will leave a scar but maybe a thin pale one from the knife.  Nothing extreme, nothing outlasting a week or two.  It was almost perfect.

To Leonard it was as good as it could get.  He is aware though of Mick's want for the marks his friend draws on him to be permanent.  They both doubt though that he would stop asking for this if he got that.  Eventually, Mick joked feebly once, they would run out of room that way.  He knew it was a bad joke as it was leaving his lips.

"What do you want tonight?"  Leonard asks, pulling a small box out from under the bed.  None of the supplies was special, but once this was realized to be a somewhat regular occurrence Leonard thought it best to keep some things put together at the ready.  
There's a pause as Mick debates his answer, mulling over the evening this far.  "Knives.  And the belt."  
"Alright."  He takes the lid off the box, pulling out a large pocket knife and setting the rest aside on the nightstand.  "Safeword system?"  
"Same as always."  
"I need to hear you say it, Mick, you know that."  
"Green for good, yellow for pause, red for stop, black for full stop."  
"Good."  He says, tone beginning to be a bit more firm, moving around the bed to stand behind Mick.  "Have you been thinking about anything specific tonight?"  
Mick swallows thickly, his heart starting to beat faster, heavier already.  "Wanna cut up my legs."

It's always puts an odd feeling in his gut to hear it out loud. Mick's fantasies would be far more unnerving to another person.  In a way they were to Leonard as well, hearing how his best friend wanted to harm himself, but they were both rather odd people.  Leonard's morals were skewed enough it seems that he isn't incredibly disturbed.  But perhaps he was just used to it.

He nudges the insides of Mick's calfs with his feet until he spreads his legs wide enough for Leonard to kneel between them.  He flips the blade out and reaches carefully around to rest it against the front of Mick's left leg.  He uses his free hand to grab at the front of his boxers, bunching the fabric up to give himself more room to work.  "Where?"  
He listens to Mick's soft breaths, as if he can hear the anticipation through his _lungs_  before he replies.  "Higher."  
Slowly Leonard moves the blade up, scraping lightly across his skin until-- " _There_."

He applies slight pressure and in a swift movement pulls the knife away, leaving a smooth, thin slice through his friend's skin.  The first is never as deep as Mick wants it.  This one will merely sting and gather beads of blood along it likely not enough for a single one to run.  He moves the knife just slightly before repeating the swiping motion.  Five cuts are left, each one deeper than the last until the final two are unlikely to fade away, whereas the first three likely would in weeks or months.

"Color?"  
"Green."  Mick sighs with a voice already tipping into a breathy sort as he slip into his blissful headspace of relieved pain.  A soft smile graces Leonard's lips.  He releases the bunched fabric, pulls his hands away all together, and asks, "Where else?"  
Mick's hands in front of him on the mattress turn into fists.  He breaths deep, and Leonard knows what it means.  He refused to risk going after Mick's wrists.  They often itch when he's like this.

"How about your back, hm?"  He tries instead, trailing the blade light and harmlessly over his upper back.  Mick's shiver would be answer enough if communication wasn't so important on these nights.  "Use your words, Mick."  
"Yes.  Please."  
"Do you want the knife or the belt?"  
A low rumbling hum sounds from Mick's chest.  "You choose.."  
Leonard pauses, not explicitly as he considers the answer.  "Knife it is..  And then I'll give your legs a good beating.  Sound good?"  
"Yeah."  Mick nods.

Leonard takes his time with him, the thinnest cuts this time are brought by the blade slowly dragging across his skin, bringing on hisses at the sting.  The deeper ones are pressed in and swiftly made.  Tension rolls in and out of his friend's body.  Leonard would love to know what went on in his head when they did this.  He has never asked.  
Numerous small lines of blood run down his back.  Some stopping short and some trailing all the way down to his underwear, soaking up in the fabric.  As unsettling of a sight as it should be to Leonard, looking upon his friend in such a state, there was a comfort in knowing he himself did it upon request.  Mick asked- begged the first few times.  Barely focussed, already having put a wide gash in his own leg, looking up at Leonard and insisting that he needed it.  He needed the knife Leonard had snatched to be given back.  He needed to hurt.  The only calm was when Leonard said "Let me do it then, okay?  Let me do it.."  
The third time he skipped that part and came straight to him, a belt in hand that time and shamefully asking for help.  Leonard obliged.

He took comfort in knowing the only harm done onto Mick was by a caring hand.  His caring hand, able to control the situation entirely.  He cuts up Mick's back in varying lengths and depths, drags a finger through one of the trails and watches Mick's entire body go rigid at the touch, shivering as he finally breathe out and relax again.

When he deems it done, he wipes the knife clean and sets it aside to be re-sharpened and properly washed later.  In the mean time he takes the belt in hand instead and this time stays on his feet.  "Get up and bend over the bed."  
He does.  Feet planted on the floor, Mick leans forward with his elbows on the mattress propping his torso up.  The worst of the cuts still slowly drip red, the angle changing the flow to run down his sides and likely capturing Mick's attention until Leonard's nimble fingers run across the back of his thighs.

"Please boss.."  
He tugs his friend's boxers down to his knees, folds the belt in half, and starts swinging.  Once again it builds, allows him to adjust and get lost in the sensation.  His body trembles, arms begin struggling to hold him up.  Breath hitches with every hit, his hands clench into tight fists.

From mid thigh up to his ass, his skin is bright red by the time they're finished, harsh lines left in a few places likely to be sore for days.  The blood on his back has finally clotted and stopped dripping.  "How are you feeling?"  Response comes in the form of a deep breath and a nod.  "Words, Mick.  I need to know if you need anything else."  He explains, placing a gentle hand on his back- a clean spot untouched by blood or blade.  
"I'm good..  I think I'm done."  Mick's voice is guttural, and yet weak in it's own way.  
"Alright."  He grabs a bottle of lotion from the box and rubs a small dollop into the red, sensitive skin.  "You did good, Mick.  Did real good."

Mick drops to his knees again, and Leonard wets a cloth to clean his back, offering a few more words of praise before letting silence settle over them.  When all is said and done he helps Mick into pajama pants and guides him into bed with careful hands on his shoulders and arms.

   

Leonard makes himself a cup of tea, settles on the couch, and they sleep.


End file.
